Monday, December 12, 2011

How often can I show up at a holiday gathering with my baggy of Kandy Kane Jo-Jo’s, while others bring their loaf of homemade lemon bread, Angels on Horseback, beef on a skewer with a Dutch-Indo peanut sauce fondue?

I don’t know, pretty often I guess. At least this Christmas season and maybe the next, and then I might need to regroup.

Everyone always takes a Jo-Jo, whether they eat it or not. It’s the gesture that counts.

When I was growing up in one particular city, my best friend was part of a musical family. They all played piano, but one daughter also played flute, another guitar, violin, and so on. For whatever reason, which will always remain a mystery, this family surrounded me like a warm quilt. I was loved and petted, falling somewhere between an adopted sibling and a favorite cat.

The parents parented me, “How are you coming along,” they’d ask, about this and that. And then, “How are you coming along on the clarinet?”

“Good,” I lied. I was used to lying if it would show me a favorable light, and I don’t remember conscience ever waving a hanky to stop me. “My teacher says I have talent!” My teacher had never hinted at talent. I didn’t play, I honked.

“Of course you have talent,” the mother or father of this family would say. “You are a most gifted girl.”

It’s not that my own parents were cruel, they were just hard, hard on me. I think my parents thought I’d take a compliment too personally, or too much to heart, then stop trying to stretch beyond a compliment.

I wouldn’t get to spend the actual holiday with this family, the family of my best friend, though they always put forth the offer. In fact, when my own family moved to another state, they asked my parents if I could live with them, which of course was out of the question.

But anyway, this family and I spent tween holidays together; they were the pillow for my head.

Then, one night, they planned to have a great many guests, and asked that I bring my clarinet to accompany them all on a piece. Prokofiev? Chopin? That I don’t recall.

“You can do it, Karin,” they said. “E Natural, A, E, and F. We’ll give you the sign.”

“No,” in this instance, wasn’t in my vocabulary. Nor was the clarinet in my vocabulary, but still, I showed up on the appointed day, when the family played their instruments most beautifully. Every few measures or so, I came in to honk.

After the recital, my humiliation was so total,so truthfully total, it was practically liberating. I remember, so clearly, thinking, what the hell, now you know, now you know.

“Let me tell you,” said the mother that night. “You hit a rough patch or two, I won’t deny that. But you also played the prettiest E Natural I’ve ever heard. It brought tears to my eyes. Your teacher is right, you have talent.”

I don’t think I’ve ever lied since. With held information, yes, but never lied. Except at certain times with certain men, where the relationship was so exclusive we closed the doors on all intruders, even truth. But that's something else altogether.

Posted by
altadenahiker

48 comments:

They sound like sweethearts! As did your E natural, it seems. And I don't know what Kandy Kane Jo-Jos are, but I imagine they'd fall on them with much pleasure no matter how many times you trotted them out.

Compliments: no point in giving them, or taking them personally. Then we might feel we are fine JUST THE WAY WE ARE. Good heavens! What need then, for ambition or self-improvement? Where would the room be, for, say, self-loathing?

Can't be as humiliating as being the organist at a Christmas eve service where the pastor starts slapping his knee in front of the whole congregation to signal that you're playing too slow for his taste. Oh the memories. I bet you really did play a beautiful E natural :-)

Never played an instrument myself. But my older kids were required to take instrument lessons in middle school. We had to buy them: trumpets for the boys, and flutes for the girls, and they were all invited to leave the "band" within 2 years. All except Jeff, that is, who tried out for and was allowed to play the drums. He wasn't too awful.

Oh, yes, and then there was my husband in Catholic school, whose teacher in 2nd grade, a kindly old nun, told him to simply move his lips so as not to spoil the sound of the other children singing. So I guess it's really good that you played a perfect E-Natural. Better than anyone in this family did.

That's one fine story, AH. I especially like "my humiliation was so total,so truthfully total, it was practically liberating. I remember, so clearly, thinking, what the hell, now you know, now you know." As you may remember, the question of honesty interests me--which is in now way my claim of being honest. I think you've hit on something big here.

Alex, the good thing about the flute is that if you're bad, it won't make any sound whatsoever. Kalei, an Angel on Horseback is a raw oyster wrapped in fried bacon. Don't curl your lip, it's food of the gods.

S, JJ's are an insidious combination of oreo filled with peppermint whip.

Wow, what a story. And what a tough way to realize that lying would lead to a horrifying recital where all would be exposed. At least the mom was sweet about it. I don't know an E Natural from Adam as I chose swim team over learning an instrument when I was 8 (and happily no one ever asked me to show off my swimming skills at a party).

I don't know, Hiker. I woke up this morning with the thought that honesty is something personal and measurable but that quite often the truth is simply the bigger picture where everyone can be wrong/have a different POV about what is true and that alone can be the crux of the matter.

I will try to be like your adoptive mother - she said all the right things! I loved the kids my friends brought home, but I betrayed one teenager I was very fond of when I told his father (in a joking way) that he'd eaten almost everything in my house. The poor boy was then told off for that, and never quite trusted me again.

I think of the two sort of like PJ. Truth is the Big metaphysical Thing out and up there, which we say we seek. Some honestly seek it, but some fake it. Some only pretend. Or run like hell if they think they've gotten close.